Hurting
by Box
Summary: Another angst-blood-filled fic from me. ^^; I know you guys have to be tired of it but I can't help it. @_@ This time starring Schuldig.


Hurting  
By. Bento Box  
12/30/01

_Six o'clock in the morning  
my head is ready to explode  
I can't believe I made it home alive  
I don't remember where I went  
or what was drinking  
but I know its made me sick  
and I'm not denying  
that I get this way  
when I try to get over you  
I get this way  
When I try to get over you  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
to lose the one you love  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
to lose the one you love _

He vaguely remembered stumbling up the stairs and fumbling clumsily with the keys.

He remembered through a pain-induced haze crashing into various things and breaking vases when he had finally stumbled in through the door, nearly falling flat on his face.

He remembered falling flat on his face right after the first shaky save from doing just that.

He remembered how he had come to be so intoxicated; alone in some club with blaring music and writhing bodies all around him. He had found no pleasure that night raking the minds around him. He had found no sanctuary within the pulsing music and the bitter downing of his brew.

He remembered what had made him go there to drown out his misery. It was the coldness of blue eyes that brought a maelstrom of emotions; bitter and pain-filled pleasure. The black hair with its merciless inky strands swept back from a narrow face. Such strong bones to set off the delicate, almost fragile cheekbones. The large eyes that hid behind flashing mirrors and firm lips that brook no misgivings.

He remembered everything.

The rejection, the pain, the cold words that nipped his flesh before sinking in and twisting the nerves beneath his skin until everything ceased to exist and became a mesh of wires and blooming colors.

All within his mind the buildings began to fall and the shields collapse.

All within himself did the strings begin to unfurl and snap at him, causing short bursts of pain and agony.

He remembered lying there like a spineless doll. A rag doll tossed away after the cushioning had been torn from within.

The pain inside his head increased but it was only a small torture compared to the endless agony that swept throughout his soul.

His mind was so chaotic. He could not muster enough strength to keep out the voices. The voices with their petty problems and their screams of rape and horror.

He began to cry, his tears driven by an endless sorrow, the strength having left him for the moment, and he thrashed upon his living hell as the storm rode itself through his body and mind.

His heart was shattering.

_I tried to hard to hate you  
but it only made things worse  
I only end up hating myself  
and as my hatred grows  
so do the lies  
it's hard to face the truth sometimes  
god I feel so useless  
god I hate myself  
when I try to get over you  
I hate myself  
how will I ever get over you?  
Sometimes it hurts so much  
to lose the one you love  
And after all this time you'd think I understand the way you feel, but no  
I only think about myself  
And it's driving you away  
I always knew it would one day  
Sometimes it hurts so much to lose  
the one you love_

Time was a never-ending thing. It was an indestructible thing; a merciless and unhealing thing.

It did not help him heal. It only helped the wounds to fester strongly in his soul, to grow a mold so foul and strong that it made him weak and lightheaded when he tried to touch himself.

That part of his mind, his soul, was now untouchable.

Just a soft sigh, a painful sigh, inside of him.

There is no such thing as "returning to normal". There is no such thing as "letting go". He would never be able to let go. Never.

But he was still there, still here, still around with a sneering leer on his lips that belied the twisted mask that covered his mind. If anyone asked what had made him so cruel, he would have laughed.

It would have been a bitter, hysterical laugh that would bring forth an uneasy shiver from the questioner.

And when the laughter would die down, he would gaze at the person from mirrors of fragile green. "Because life is a bitch. And I'm that bitch."

He would laugh.

He would always laugh and smile and tease and torture the minds around him. None compared to the torture he put himself through though. None could come close to the agony he inflicted upon himself. They were tiny and invisible, but elentless as he would flay the agonies upon his own mind.

Scars would be left behind.

He stood in front of the mirror, shaking and quivering as the cold seeped in slowly.

He shivered in the darkness of the small cramped room.

He cried silently in his mind as the mirror shattered. Just another thing for him to destroy.

His life.

His body.

His mind.

His soul.

The blood ran in slow, seeping rivulets down his fist and into the sink. It swirled around in slow circles before draining into the bottomless hole.

Everything was so dark.

He closed his fist bleeding fist around the broken shard of glass and closed his eyes as it sliced through his flesh, biting deeper and deeper as the blood ran faster and faster.

Sometimes it hurts.

It hurts to feel.

It hurts....

Author's notes: Good bloody gods. o__O; That was so angsty. ^^; And bloody. I've always had too much of a fascination for blood and angst. I hope I'm not starting to become "cliché-ish" because I know how played out angst and drama can get after awhile. Almost as played out as the "happily ever after" love stories.

Yes, I am a bitter old teenage hag and it is quite obvious with my love for angst, blood, and torturing my favorite characters. XD;

Oh duh, my disclaimers.... I do not own Schuldig or any of the other Schwarz members, and I also do no own Stabbing Westward's "Sometimes It Hurts", whose lyrics I used in this fic. ^^;


End file.
